Alfred, Who Can't Be Moved
by dhbPATHWAY1997
Summary: After a rough break-up, Alfred promises Arthur he won't move, so that if Arthur ever wakes up to find that he's missing him, he'll know where he is: Matthew's café, The Corner. Song-fic: The Man Who Can't Be Moved, by the Script. Rated K for slight yaoi.
1. Prologue: Where I First Saw You

_The morning was gray, the normally cloudless sky covered completely with the promise of flooding rain. Every Londoner who walked the streets carried an umbrella in preparation, but not me. I rushed to The Corner, looking for somewhere to hide. If I didn't need to buy milk and eggs, I wouldn't have come out at all on this rainy Sunday, but now I was here, I hoped to wait out the rain. I figured I might as well have a snack while I was out, rather than walk home now and end up caught in the downpour. _

_I wasn't sure how I'd never noticed the little café that I found in front of me, but The Corner stood humbly, and fittingly, on the corner just three blocks away from my house. A new, bright sign advertising the café's name stood out front, quietly welcoming me in, and I opened the glass door. The place was nearly empty: only one other patron sat at the bar, a very attractive blonde man with glasses, talking familiarly with the man behind the counter who looked very much like him, even wearing glasses, though his hair was a little lighter, and his eyes closer to violet than the first man's cerulean blue. _

_Both men looked up as I entered, and I felt a little self-consicous as I strode awkwardly to the counter and sat down, a seat away from the attractive man. _

_"Hello," I greeted them both. I turned to the cashier and asked, "Can I ask for..." I browsed the menu that hung on the wall, "a cup of tea and a raspberry scone, please?" _

_"A scone?" both men asked at once, the first man incredulously, the second more surprised. _

_"Er, I mean, no problem," said the cashier, whose nametag read 'Matthew'. "Coming right up." _

_I smiled and settled into my seat. The first man continued to stare at me, eyebrows raised. I finally acknowledged him. "Can I help you?"_

_"Sorry," the man laughed, turning back to the tall expresso in front of him, fingering the lid. "My bro and I were just surprised at your order. A scone...even in London, not many people actually want a _scone_." _

_"I happen to like them," I said, trying not to sound offended. _

_"Hey, man, I didn't mean anything by it," he chuckled. "I'm Alfred. Alfred Jones." He offered me a hand that I took automatically. _

_"Arthur Kirkland," I replied. _

_Matthew came back to the counter carrying a small plate and a paper cup. With him came another man, more petite, with large brown eyes and coppery hair, who from his clothing I could assume was the cook. "Sorry," he apologized in a heavily accented voice, definitely Italian. "I just wanted to see the one person who's ever ordered a scone here!" he laughed._

_"Feliciano...get back to the kitchen...!" Matthew urged him half-heartedly. Feliciano didn't seem to hear Matthew, but chuckled a little and then went back into the kitchen anyway. "Here's your order," Matthew said to me, reaching into the pouch at his waist and pulling in a couple of sugars and creams, and put them next to my plate._

_"Thank you," I responded, using one of the sugars in my tea and taking an appreciative sip. Just as I did, the rain began outside, pounding against the glass windows and door. _

_The door opened behind me and a girl rushed in, a brunette with green eyes, looking relieved at having barely missed the barrage of water. She took a seat at the table closest to the door, and Matthew went to wait on her with a small wave at Alfred. "Duty calls," he smiled. _

_"You go, bro," chuckled Alfred. The two of us at the bar sat in silence for a minute, half-listening to the news in the background, then Alfred turned to me again. "I know it's super forward, and we don't even know each other, but I'm gonna say it 'cause I'm just that kinda guy." _

_I raised an eyebrow. _

_With a slight blush, Alfred said, "I think you're really cute." Then I blushed. "I don't know if that'll, you know, get me anywhere, but I do." _

_I hesitated, then muttered, "It...is. Erm, getting you somewhere." Alfred looked surprised, and a little confused, so I elaborated, embarrassed, "I...er, also find you quite...attractive," I admitted. _

_Then Alfred grinned, and I felt butterflies in my stomach. _

_After that, he asked me to dinner that Tuesday night. I accepted. It had to be the best date I'd ever been on, too, with a simple but nice meal and a trip to the park afterwards, where we got to just get to know each other. It only took me a little while to fall in love with him. _

_But if there was one thing Alfred and I knew how to do, it was fight. When we got into it, we couldn't stop. We yelled ourselves hoarse, we clenched our fists until our knuckles ached, slammed doors so hard that the building shook, and ran our fingers through our hair in frustration until we looked like we'd been struck by lightning. _

_One night, I'd had enough. We'd fought three times just that week, and I was tired and angry and frustrated. Finally, I exploded. "Enough!" I yelled. Alfred paused, his face red and his glasses slightly skewed. "It's over!" His brow unfurrowed. _

_"What?" _

_"It's over!" I repeated, a little quieter, but with the same force behind it. _

_He continued to stand and stare at me, several expressions taking turns flicking across his face. "Just go," I urged. "Go." _

_And he did. He went to the front door and opened it, more calmly than I would have expected. But he turned around to face me again, and in the several months we'd been dating, I'd never seen him wear that look: one so full of pain and sadness. "You know where to find me." _

_I did, but I told him, from hurt and anger, "I won't look for you!"_

_"Still," he insisted. "I won't move." And he was gone._


	2. 1: Going Back to the Corner

_Alfred's POV_

Right after the huge fight between Arthur and I, I found my old sleeping bag (patterned with an American flag, being the patriotic dude I was), and went immediately to The Corner, where I'd first met the love of my life. Maybe I was overdramatic to think that, but maybe I wasn't. Maybe Arthur thought I was overdramatic to say that I wouldn't move, but I wasn't joking. Once I reached The Corner, I didn't plan on moving.

I entered the café, and as I expected, only one light was on, and only Matthew was present inside. It was ten o'clock at night - no one else in their right mind would be here but the owner of the café and his apparently deranged brother.

"Alfred?" Matthew asked, sounding rightfully confused.

"Yeah," I responded.

"Um...what are you doing here? It's..." he checked the clock on the wall, "ten o'clock. And you have your sleeping bag."

"Mm-hmm. I'm kind of not leaving here, okay?"

He gave me a look. You know, that kind of look where you just know that person thinks you've gone crazy. "Al, did something happen? Maybe between...you and Arthur?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes. But I'll prove to him that I love him." Matthew raised his eyebrows. "I'm staying here, right where I met him, and I'm not moving."

"You can't just...call him?"

I grimaced. "I...lost my phone again," I admitted. "And I don't think just talking to him will work."

"Well what are you going to do here? Obviously you're taking a break from your job search. I can get you food, but you're going to bathe, right?"

"You have water and soap here. I'll make do."

"You're kidding, right?"

"No," I assured him.

"'Course you're not..." he sighed. "Well, if you're staying here, I live right upstairs. You're bathing, end of story."

Matthew was being forceful, which meant he was concerned for me. The only time my twin _ever_ stood his ground was if his boyfriend, Francis, or I were in some sort of trouble, which we usually were.

"Fine," I groaned. "Now, can I go to sleep?" I motioned to the booth nearest to the door.

"Is that your chosen place?"

"Yes."

"All right," he shrugged. "I'll turn off the light." He crossed the room to the back, near the kitchen, where the stairs to his apartment upstairs was hidden by a door. By the door was the lightswitch, and he flicked it, leaving the café in almost complete darkness - the streetlights and bright signs from outside illuminated just enough of my surroundings so I could see Matthew's face and a few of the first booths by the door. I stepped into my sleeping bag and then laid back onto the bench, my head propped up on the bag and the windowsill.

"Thanks, bro," I said as loudly as I could in the seemingly inpenetrable darkness.

"No problem," he responded. "But..." he hesitated. "Is...I mean... You sure you don't want to talk about it? What happened, I mean? Obviously, you're welcome to stay with me, but you could stay in the actual apartment, rather than just the booth..."

I sighed. "All you need to know, Mattie, is that I love Arthur. I really do. I could spend every day of the rest of my life with him. But we both get so out of control... He's scared that we'll always be like that, I know he is. I need to show him that I can be stable. I'll do anything for him."

"And the only way to do that is to sleep in a booth?"

"No," I half-smiled. "But I think it's kind of a good gesture. That I'm willing to wait, willing to stay, and look like an idiot for him."

"You usually look like an idiot," Mattie joked.

I laughed, knowing full well that he didn't mean it, and thankful for the lift it provided in my spirits. "Thanks, dude."

"But what are you going to do during the day?" Matthew asked, taking a few steps forward and leaning his hand on the table I slept by. "Just sit and wait?"

"Yep," I affirmed. "I'll eat and stuff, too, but mostly I'll just wait, and hope."

"How do you know _he'll_ know where you are?"

"He'll know," I insisted. "This place is special. And if he doesn't, I'll make sure he finds out." Mattie gave me an inquiring look, but I didn't acknowledge it, and I didn't explain. He'd see soon enough.

"Hey, isn't Francis going to be coming home? It's awful late, isn't it?" I asked, changing the subject really without meaning to, and just out of honest curiosity.

Even in the dark, I could see that smile that appeared on Mattie's face at the mention of his boyfriend of four years. They were totally in love, and everyone knew that as soon as the U.K. allowed same-sex marriage, they would be at the courthouse. I found myself unconsciously jealous.

"Yeah. He'll come through the back, though, don't worry. He went out with Gil and Antonio tonight." His grin slipped a little as he admitted, "Antonio and Lovino have been arguing again."

"I know how that is," I muttered, gloom settling over me again, stronger.

"Oh...I'm sorry, Alfred," Mattie murmured. "I didn't mean to - I'm sorry-"

"Hey, man, it's all right. Just go to sleep, 'kay? I'll be here in the morning."

Mattie hesitated, then nodded. "Okay... Goodnight."

"'Night."

He patted my foot through my sleeping bag, then walked away. I could hear him open the door to the stairs and then slowly ascend them, his shoes _clunk_ing on every wooden step. When he was gone, I laid in the almost-silence, just thinking. Lights and dim stars were reflected through the glass onto the sleeping bag in front of me, and I could just barely hear cars on the streets, the occasional honking horn, and the normal sounds of London traffic. Matthew and I had been here five years, and the traffic here was almost just like the traffic in D.C. I was ready to be lulled to sleep by the noises I'd grown up with, but no such luck.

I laid staring around the dark café long enough that I heard the sound of the back door open and close, and I knew Francis had just gotten home.

"Ah, _Mathieu,_ _mon amour_!" I heard him call.

"Shh! Shh, shh, shh!" Matthew shushed him hurriedly. "Alfred-" and then their voices were too quiet for me to make out.

I sighed. My mind just wouldn't settle. I could think about anything - Elvis, Memphis, Oprah in the afternoon - but Arthur's face was in the back of my mind the whole time. The words we'd yelled at each other, until he'd had enough, and...ended it...

A teeny, tiny part of me thought that maybe, _just maybe_, he didn't mean it at all. It was the heat of the moment, and he was angry, and hurt, and he would feel horrible about it tomorrow, but I knew Arthur, and I knew that teeny, tiny part of me was wrong. Arthur loved me - he had to! Someone didn't act the way he did when they weren't in love - but the both of us...we could certainly argue. He'd hurt me, but I'd hurt him just as much, if not more. The guilt that came with knowing that gnawed at my stomach, eating me from the inside out.

Maybe it was just infatuation that kept his face behind my eyelids and his words of love locked within my mind every minute of every day, but I didn't think so. With a pang, I realized that I suddenly understood what it meant for someone to "have someone's heart". When Arthur and I were together, I was the happiest I think I'd ever been, and now that he was gone, I felt empty. He had kept my heart when he'd told me to leave. But did...did I have his? Did he feel the way that I did? So empty and broken and shaken?

Tears welled in my eyes, and I really, really, _really_ didn't want them to fall, but they did anyway, spiting myself. I rolled over so my forehead faced the back of the seat I laid in, unable to stay in the same position. I finally remembered, then, to take off my glasses and I put them on the table behind me, reaching behind uncomfortably for just a moment to do so.

Laying in the seat, I felt so alone. Arthur and I hadn't moved in together, but we'd spent plenty of time at Arthur's house and my apartment, and I hadn't slept alone since...gosh, when was the last time?

I eventually came up with the idea to curl the edge of the sleeping bag inward, towards me, and it felt..._sort_ of like someone was close. With that and the presence of the sturdy seat in front of me, I managed to sleep, my face sticky with drying salt water.

_Arthur's POV_

I woke up feeling the same way I had the last several mornings: like someone had removed my organs, leaving me empty, then filling me back up with molasses, so my inside felt thick and soupy.

The first few mornings I'd found myself feeling that way, I'd assumed it was hunger and gone down to the kitchen to make myself a large breakfast, including scones according to my mum's traditional recipe. But food hadn't filled me, so to speak, and I found myself feeling worse than before every time.

And I thought I had an idea now what it really was that left me feeling so empty and soupy... _Alfred._ He'd come to mean so much to me over the course of seven months or so, and cutting him out of my life wasn't easy, but I'd done it. Now I just had to adapt and move on. But how did you just get rid of a piece of your _life_? It took time, I assumed, and patience, but that was easier said (or thought) than done.

_Why don't you just go talk to him?_ I'd wondered a couple of times. But the truth was, Alfred did have negative qualities. He was loud, obnoxious, rude, and occasionally arrogant, and he could be so close-minded in regards to some things while ridiculously imaginitive and open to others. That man caused me whiplash like no other, but somehow I'd still fallen in love with him, and I still found it difficult to completely rid himself from my thoughts. But I would, somehow.

Even if I did want to talk to him again - which, certainly, I didn't - I could only assume that he wouldn't want to speak to me. Horrible things had been said that night ("You're an ignorant, obnoxious prat who will never get _anywhere_ because he refuses to do anything but read your bloody comic books and eat your bloody hamburgers!") and I wasn't sure he'd forgive me.

_Although..._that voice said again. _He did say..._ Yes, yes, he'd said that. "_You know where to find me_." He'd be at The Corner. The small café owned and operated by his twin brother, Matthew, was nearly always occupied by Alfred when he wasn't at home sleeping or playing video games, on the job hunt, or, until recently, at my house. Plus, it was where we'd met, and he'd always told me The Coner was even more special because of it. But did he really want me to find him? And would I really apologize if I did? Would we talk things out and kiss and make up, or would we argue?

"_Still...I won't move."_ Those words stuck with me.

I shook my head. No! I wasn't going to keep doing this to myself. To be honest, it was just unfair. Why should I have to think of him so frequently and feel so horrible about it? I shouldn't. I needed to get _on_ with my life. But...how would one _do_ that, exactly...?

By cleaning! Yes, of course, by _cleaning_! Cleaning was relaxing! I couldn't just stare at the wall without remembering what he'd first thought of the colour, or watch TV without thinking of his favourite programs, or sew or read or write or daydream without thinking of him, but cleaning was different. Cleaning was relaxing.

I'd start with the kitchen, by cleaning out the refrigerator. I hadn't given my house a proper, thorough cleaning since before Alfred and I had begun dating, and it was quite overdue. I pulled the rubbish bin over to the tall silver appliance and opened the door wide. I tossed out an expired jar of pickles, a couple of peaches whose fuzzy coats had been attacked by mould, and a small container of old tuna salad.

Digging at the back, I found two bottles of Dr. Pepper, hooked together by plastic rings, unopened. I sighed, hesitating. Alfred had left them here after he'd begun to spend more time here. It had felt nice to have some of Alfred's things here, even if it was just a pair of socks I'd buried at the bottom of my least frequently-used drawer and a couple of bottles of soda. Now I couldn't look at them. But I couldn't throw the bottles away, either. Resentfully, I pushed the bottles further back into the refrigerator and covered them up with other items so I couldn't see them at all. Then I sighed, and gave up on cleaning. I wasn't sure what to do now, but there wasn't much _to_ do.

I sat down on the couch heavily and sighed again, leaning forward and resting my head in my hands. I just couldn't escape him. It had been nearly two weeks...it was just too much...

I felt like I was the one who wasn't moving - like I _couldn't_ move.


	3. 2: Where On This Earth

_Arthur's POV_

_What's he doing right now?_ Probably eating. Or sleeping. Or playing some ridiculous first-person shooter or MMORPDSG3, or whatever they were called. Easy one.

_What's he thinking?_ Oh, I've no clue. Maybe about some silly commercial, or McDonalds, or Clint Eastwood. ...There was, of course, a chance that he was thinking about me, and the fight we had... That's a harder question. Not fair.

_Does he regret anything?_ Probably. I knew I did. Still, not a fair question.

_Where is he now?_ Ah, another easy question. I knew the answer to that without a doubt... He would be at that stupid Corner. Where we'd met, where we'd first talked, and eventually, fell in love.

I felt a stab of regret as I continued to think about it. And him. That was part of my routine, though, now. It was the first morning I'd done it, but I could see myself doing this tomorrow: asking myself horrible questions like _how is he feeling now?_ and _does his bed feel as empty as mine does?_

"That's it!" I decided out loud. "No more!"

I'd had _plenty_ of boyfriends before Alfred, and I'd have plenty more after him! There was no use getting hung up on someone like him, so annoying and loud and ignorant, when the love of my life was waiting somewhere out there for me and I just had to look past Alfred long enough to see him. Someday, I'd be ridiculously happy with my partner, and I'd look back on these couple of weeks after I'd broken up with Alfred, and I'd laugh at how silly I was, pining after him as I was, missing him and regretting every single hurtful word I'd said.

I sighed. I leaned against the couch lengthwise, and covered my face with my arms. I need to stop feeling this way...

_Alfred's POV_

"Okay, well, if you see him, can you tell him where I am?" I asked the woman.

She gave me a look. "Sure, love. I'll do that."

I nodded in appreciation, even if I knew that she wasn't serious. She shook her head at what I supposed was my foolishness, and left The Corner, a cappucino in each hand. I sighed, and set down my piece of cardboard. I'd taped Arthur's picture to it and written underneath in bold Sharpie, _Do you know where he is?_

Some people assumed he was a missing boy I was trying to find, but after a closer glance, they saw my rolled up sleeping bag and frequent customers noticed that I never changed clothes, but after a while, I would be noticeably cleaner again, due to Matthew forcing me to shower. Unfortunately, one such frequent customer was a cop, and after my eighteenth day sleeping at The Corner, he confronted me.

"Son, you can't stay here," he told me gruffly, a box of donuts in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. "You know this is solicitation."

"Oh, no, officer, see, this is my brother's café. He gave me permission to stay here," I hurried to explain. "So no problem, see?"

He gave me a look, too. Then he tossed a glare towards my cardboard sign and my sleeping bag. "Are you sleeping here?"

"...Yessir," I admitted.

"How long has it been since you left this place, exactly?" he asked skeptically, shifting his weight.

"Um..." I counted in my head. "Eighteen days."

The cop lifted his eyebrows, obviously impressed. "Well. Kid, that's...impressive. But seriously, you can't stay here."

"There's someone I'm waiting for," I told him, shaking my head. "If it's a day, a month, a year." I was absolutely dedicated to my plan - I would stay here no matter what happened, who tried to persuade me otherwise, what social or even legal rules I was breaking.

He studied me. Then shook his head slightly, like everyone else. Then he surprised me by muttering, "Good luck, kid." Then he walked out.

Every day I sat in the same booth of The Corner, there were at least four people who'd try to hand me money. They just didn't understand. But to each of them, I'd explain that "I'm not broke, I'm brokenhearted."

Sometimes, I would realize that it made no sense for me to keep on sitting here, but what else could I do? I couldn't call Arthur, he'd never pick up even if I could find my stupid cell phone. I couldn't go over to his place, he wouldn't answer the door. But if Arthur changed his mind, this was the first place he'd go to look for me. So I'd stay here, for as long as it took. How was I supposed to move on when I was still in love with him?

Maybe one day, Arthur would wake up and found that he missed me. And maybe the heart that he'd never given to me would wonder where in this crazy world I was. But he'd know where I was, and he'd find me at our Corner, where we'd always meet. No way in hell was I going to move. Except to shower and eat. I've gotta live, right?

So many stories existed about that guy waiting for a girl. Sure, maybe my girl was actually a guy. And a grumpy, no-nonsense, uptight guy at that. But I would wait however long it took. There were no holes in my shoes, but a huge hole in my world.

I sighed, and was about to ask Mattie to get me a coffee or something when another regular customer came up to talk to me. He had a light tan, messy brown hair and green eyes, and I had seen him several times since beginning my camp-in at The Corner.

"Hey. _Amigo_," he called gently.

"I don't want money," I warned.

"I don't _want_ to give you my money," he assured me, amused. "I want to ask you something."

"...Sure, okay...?"

"What are you doing here? You've been here for what, two weeks now? Every day, without fail. You're here first thing, and when they close. Do you ever even leave?"

"Leave?" I asked. "I can't even move. Don't get me wrong, I eat and shower and go to the bathroom, but I have to be here all the time."

"But why?" he persisted.

I held up my cardboard sign.

"_S__í_, I've seen the sign," he nodded impatiently. "But who is he? Missing bloke?"

"No. He's the love of my life," I explained shamelessly. "The most important person in my life, and the best thing that's ever happened to me. He...left me. But this was _our_ place, you know? If he ever wants to see me again, he'll come here to find me. So I can't leave, in case he comes."

"You know that's kind of stupid?" the man asked bluntly.

I snorted. "So I've been told by..." I ran a mental count, "...thirty-seven people in the last eighteen days."

"Sorry, _amigo_, but it is," he chuckled. "You don't think you could just phone him?"

"No. It's...hard to explain," I rolled my eyes. "I just can't. I've gotta stay here."

The man gave me a thoughtful look. "Well, whatever you want to do is your business, obviously. But I wonder..." he paused. "Do you think - well, could I interview you?"

"Interview?" I asked curiously.

"_S__í_. I'm a reporter for only the biggest news station in London," he said proudly, standing up a little straighter. I lifted an eyebrow, having never seen the man anywhere except at The Corner. He deflated. "Okay, okay, I'm still in-training," he admitted. "But this is such a good story! This would be my breakthrough!"

I considered his request for a minute, and decided I might as well do something nice for the guy. I sighed. "Sure. Why not."

"_En serio_? Thank you so much!" He held out a hand, which I shook. "_Gracias_! Can I come back with a crew later?"

"Uh...I guess?"

"Great! See you later," he called, walking out of the café. "Thanks again!"

"No problem," I mutmured, even though he'd already left.

"What was that all about?" Matthew asked, coming up to my table. "What'd you do for him?"

"He's gonna interview me," I said, bewildered. "For the local news."

"Really?" he asked, looking shocked. "Well...that's great! I mean, you always wanted to be on TV, right? Here's your chance! Not ideal circumstances, I'll admit, but you've finally gotten your...one to two minutes of fame!"

I smiled as much as I could muster. "Yep. Not as great as I thought it would feel, but eh, whatever. You're right."

"Wow. Not often I hear that from you," Mattie winked, joking.

"Gimme some credit, I know you're right sometimes," I chuckled. "The dude said he'd be back later with a camera crew."

"Well, all right. Considering that I'm the proprietor of this place, you _probably_ should have asked me first..." Mattie muttered, "...but I'm okay with it! Really! Just have fun, eh?"

I hestitated. "I'll try."

He walked away with a small smile as a customer stepped up to the counter.

I looked at the piece of cardboard I was still holding in my left hand. Arthur's face smiled up at me incredulously at whatever stupid thing I'd been doing when the picture was taken. I sighed, wishing I could see that expression in person again. I sighed.

Maybe I'd get famous as something cool, like... _The Man Who Can't Be Moved_. I'd be like a superhero! Maybe Arthur wouldn't mean to, but he'd see me on the news, and then he'd for-sure know where I was. Maybe he'd come to see me... He'd know automatically it was just for him.

But until I saw his face through those glass windows at the front of The Corner, I wouldn't get my hopes up. It was too risky. Still...I wouldn't move.

Because one day, Arthur could wake up and find that he missed me. And he'd start to wonder where I was, and he'd come back to The Corner, where we always used to meet, and he'd see me waiting for him. So I wouldn't be moving.


	4. 3: Maybe I'll Be Famous

_Arthur's POV_

Day 18 began miserably. I woke up with dried tears on my face, stiffening the skin and making me uncomfortable, so I took a shower. I'd forgotten to do laundry the day before, so I didn't have a clean towel, and the shirt I'd been planning to wear was wrinkled. When I'd tried to make tea, my hand shook and I'd spilled boiling water on my hand. After that, I didn't even _try_ to make the scones I'd been planning.

Those accursed Dr. Peppers were still in the refrigerator, taking up space, but I couldn't bear to remove them. The same could be said for the New York sweatshirt, the Red Sox baseball cap, the Queen CD, and a Superman comic book, all of which he'd left somewhere in my house for me to find and despair over.

When I'd gone to the supermarket on Day 13, I'd found the pictures of Alfred and I in my wallet. I moved them behind my library card and a half-used gift card, but I didn't want to take them out.

With each day that went by, I found myself losing more and more respect for myself as a person. Curiously, that didn't matter to me much after Day 8, though. I found myself nearly consumed with thoughts of Alfred, and nearly every happy moment we'd spent together. I felt ridiculous now, sitting at home and doing nothing. But would Alfred pick up my phone calls? Would he answer if I knocked on his apartment door? Would he agree to see me if I managed to get in touch with him at all? I was afraid to be rejected. And I would definitely deserve it if he _did_ reject me, but I still feared the pain.

Once I'd cleaned up the mess I'd made with my tea, I sat down in front of the television to watch the mid-morning nonsense they had on the news. It was never pressing stuff unless there had been a natural disaster or multiple tragedies, but sometimes the seemingly meaningless stories held some interest, too.

I flipped to the right channel and waited out a commercial. The head news anchor for the channel, Elizaveta Hédévary, sat at the news desk, and she straightened out a thin stack of papers, then focused on the camera with a smile.

"Our next story is something a little more pleasant," she said, "but also confounding. One table at a local café has been occupied for eighteen days - by the same person, all the time. Our own new local correspondant, Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo, has the story."

A Hispanic man with handsome features and messy hair appeared on the screen, looking excited beyond belief, but also a little nervous.

"_Hola_! This morning I got to talk with a man who can teach us all a little something about love and dedication. _Señor_ Alfred Jones has sat at the same table at the local cafe The Corner for eighteen days straight." The camera moved aside so you could see the table Antonio stood next to, as well as the man occupying it. "Sr. Jones, can you tell us why you've been sitting here for so long?"

"_Alfred_?" I gasped, my eyes widening, as his face appeared on the screen. He looked tired and sad, and I couldn't stand the look in his eyes that I could read even through the television screen.

"Uh, heh, well..." Alfred began nervously. "There's someone I'm waiting for." He looked down, away from the camera, looking embarrassed. "They don't want to talk to me right now, but if they ever do, well, they'll know where to find me."

"At The Corner," Antonio verified.

"Yes," Alfred nodded.

"This person must be very special for you to spend eighteen days in the café owned by your brother." The camera swiveled and got a shot of Matthew, looking awkward, and raising one hand in greeting towards London.

"Yeah, he is," confirmed Alfred, and the camera went back to him. "He really is."

"How are you managing to live here?" asked Antonio, sounding genuinely curious.

Alfred gave a half-smile, but one that didn't touch his eyes. "I'm doing what I've gotta do. He'll expect to find me here, so I'll stay here."

"Seems like an awful lot to do," Antonio commented bemusedly.

"I guess so, yeah," chuckled Alfred, still not looking at the camera. "But I'll do whatever it takes. Because...'cause..." Alfred looked straight at the camera, and my heart skipped a beat as his eyes stared right into mine, those passionate blue irises taking my breath away like they'd done so many times before. "Because I love him. I love him with all my heart."

My breath caught. Then I gasped. Then I choked on air. Did he just say what I _thought_ he just said?

"He's the most amazing person in the world, and I hope he knows that."

I'm sure Antonio spoke after that, but I didn't hear anything he said. The minute Alfred was done talking, I was slipping on my shoes and running out the door. I _was_ ridiculous. But was it more ridiculous to go and find Alfred when he'd just said on live television that he loved me with all his heart than to sit at home and pine after him? No.

I didn't try to catch a taxi, but the café was only about ten minutes away, and I sprinted down the sidewalks, avoiding people and pedestrian obstacles how Alfred _wished_ he could play those driving videogames (in which he usually killed people and caused millions of dollars of damage, according to the game). My feet pounded on the pavement, not taking me fast enough to my destination.

Finally, The Corner was in sight. I sped up somehow, and vaulted through the doors. When I got inside, Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo's camera crew was packing up, and a couple of men pushed past me to load up in the van parked outside, in a hurry to leave. I saw Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo himself, shaking hands with Matthew and then leaving himself, not noticing me.

Matthew turned and went into the kitchen, saying something I couldn't make out to Feliciano. I turned and looked at the table by the door. There he was.

I saw the back of his blonde head, and the rogue curl that stuck up in the front. I heard him sigh, and slump his shoulders. My heart beating insanely, but my breath surprisingly calm, I took one step forward, then two, then three, leading me slowly towards Alfred.

Finally, I was close enough to touch him. I reached out a hand and tapped him twice on his shoulder.

"Yes, I was on the news," said Alfred without turning around, sounding bored. "No, I don't want your money, and no, I'm not doing any more interviews. Thank you and good day."

I swallowed. "Er...Alfred?"

Alfred stiffened. Then he slowly turned to face me in his seat. "Arthur..." he breathed.

I tried to think of something to say. "You...er, you really didn't move, did you?"

"Well, I bathed," he said breathlessly. "I did technically move."

"But you stayed here," I clarified. "You didn't leave."

"Of course not," Alfred continued softly. "You knew how to find me here."

I nodded. "Yes."

"So, why are you...here?" Alfred gulped.

"I...saw you on the news," I confessed. "I suppose you finally got your television appearance."

"It was dramatic, huh?" he joked, looking somehow completely serious. "I could write my own soaps."

I chuckled. "If you wanted to."

"So...?" Alfred prompted, the quietest I'd ever heard him.

I didn't answer for a minute. I just stared at him, studying every detail of his face, and how his eyes and glasses shone in the mixture of natural and fluorescent light. Then I managed, "I - I love you too, Alfred."

Alfred didn't seem to comprehend for a moment, then he grinned and lunged at me, pulling my face down to his and kissing me, fairly unsuccessfully due to the size of his smile. I finally stepped back a little, but he kept a hold of my face, rubbing my cheek with his thumb.

"We can work on fighting more...diplomatically," I began. "And choosing our battles wisely in the first place."

"And knowing when to stop," Alfred added, looking nothing but apologetic.

"Exactly."

"I'm so sorry," Alfred whispered. "So, so, so, so, _so_ sorry, Arthur. I'm so sorry..."

"I am, too," I whispered back, and held his hand to my cheek. "So sorry. But if this...experience has taught me anything, it's that...there's real love here." Alfred nodded, and I repeated, "I love you."

"I love you too," Alfred immediately responded, smiling again.

Then I smiled. "Let's go home."

"Yours or mine?" Alfred asked.

"How about we call it..._ours_..." I suggested a little shyly.

"Ours?" Alfred asked, oblivious. Then realization dawned on his face. "Oh...! Artie, are...are you asking me to move in with you? Like, into your place?"

"Well, your Dr. Pepper is already there, isn't it?" I joked, trying to cover up my self-consciousness.

I'd never seen Alfred look happier, and I managed to grin as well, though I didn't want to share too much emotion in public. I didn't want to end up a blubbering mess in the middle of The Corner.

Alfred laughed. "Yeah! Let's go home!" He took my hand and stood up, getting out of the booth. "Hey! Bro! Mattie!"

Matthew came out of the kitchen. "Yes, Alfred, what is- Oh, Arthur!" Matthew looked shocked, but smiled after a moment. "Does this mean...?"

"Yep, they kissed and made up!" Feliciano reported, and I wasn't sure I remembered him ever coming out of the kitchen. "Now they're moving in together."

Matthew looked honestly overjoyed, and he came around the corner to hug Alfred. "That's great! I'm so happy for you two," he congratulated us.

"Thank you," I responded with a smile.

"Yeah, thanks, bro! And, you know, for letting me stay in your café for eighteen days," Alfred smiled sheepishly.

"Of course," Matthew responded tenderly.

With a few more temporary goodbyes, a promise that we would come back in soon, I took Alfred's hand, a little nervously, and we turned to leave. With a smile at my hero, we walked through the front door of The Corner.

Because one day, I'd woken up, and realized I'd missed Alfred. And I'd honestly wondered where on this earth he could be. But when I'd had to look for him, I knew where he'd be: waiting for me, at The Corner. And the proof that Alfred loved me was in the fact that he really hadn't moved.

**A/N: Well, that's the end of this. It was meant to me just a quick song-fic (**_**The Man Who Can't Be Moved**_** by The Script, of course), but it somehow turned into this. Even if it's only three chapters, it's still much longer than originally intended. XD I hope you liked it, and thank you everyone for your wonderful comments and criticism, and for favoriting the story and adding me, and so on. Thank you so much! **

**I own nothing in this fic (not even really the plot this time!). **


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